


I'll Be Your Baby Tonight

by LauraEMoriarty



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Romance, heavily inspired by Bob Dylan lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23963293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraEMoriarty/pseuds/LauraEMoriarty
Summary: A kiss becomes more. An office affair turns to love.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. I'll Be Your Baby Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Barbex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbex) for the beta reading. This fic is finished, and will be updated every Saturday evening (GMT +10). This fic was a welcome change of gear and a change of pace from the heavy subject matter in [Lady of Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226267/chapters/37929098); and was initially meant to be a smutty one-shot. Niamh and Cullen had other ideas, and so twenty thousand, four hundred and fifty one words later, _I'll Be Your Baby Tonight_ was born.
> 
> This was my [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3sZHIRZCKfyVqoBfpkD48y?si=WlOEbCjpT9iLEvszNj23Kg) for inspiration.

Close your eyes, close the door

You don’t have to worry any more

I’ll be your baby tonight

\- Bob Dylan, _I_ _’ll Be Your Baby Tonight_

“Cullen, it’s just not…” Niamh Trevelyan said, her phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear as she queued in the small cafe for coffee. “No, it’s not that I don’t _want_ to go to the gala tonight, I do, I just…” She sighed. “I feel like you’re too often my date to these things, and it’s a massive imposition. I’ve gotta go— queue’s moving, I’ll talk to you at the office— your usual?” She tapped the red phone icon on her screen, and pulled her purse from her handbag, dropping her phone into it.

The hiss of the steam wand from the gleaming copper-fronted espresso machine and the rising steam from the stainless steel jug filled her senses. The buzz of conversation faded away behind her as she looked at the array of sweet offerings on display, noting the carrot cake topped with walnuts, the decadent chocolate mud cake with two slices already gone, and made her decision.

“Just your usuals today, Niamh?” The barista asked, and Niamh nodded, pulling her credit card from her wallet.

“Plus two slices of cake,” Niamh said, pointing to the carrot cake. “That’d be grand, thanks, Anna.”

The barista smiled. “Always a pleasure,” she said.

Niamh paid, pulled her phone back out of her bag, and sat down in the small alcove, wishing for the thousandth time she’d _not_ worn heels. Her PA, a rather lovely girl, was off seeing about a gown from her couturier, so Niamh had been forced to go get coffees on her own. Not that she’d minded; Ostwick in autumn was a glorious sight to behold. Trees laden with red and gold leaves, some already crunching beneath heels, the fresh blue sky like Andraste’s finest cloak, and the wind carried with it the smells of the ocean, and the chill of the winter that was to come. She’d nestled down in her Highever wool coat as she’d walked the two blocks from her office to her favourite cafe, enjoying the glorious autumn day.

She opened the messages app, pulling up her messages with Cullen.
    
    
      _Shouldn’t be much longer…. Just waiting on Anna to make coffee. See you soon, hope you’re hungry ;)_
    

A reply came back almost instantly. Niamh grinned.
    
    
      _Oh, I’m pretty hungry. Hurry back. Can’t wait._
    
    
    
      _It’s carrot cake— from our favourite place. The Old Coach House on the corner. The one you like because it’s not hipster._
    
    
    
      _*Groans* Maker save me from hipsters and their turmeric almond milk lattes._
    
    
    
      _—Insert tears of joy emoji here—_
    
    
    
      _Almond milk’s mainly water with about 2% almonds anyway— I got bored waiting for coffee this morning, so I read the ingredients list_
    
    
    
      _… Of course you did._
    

She imagined Cullen’s resigned sigh and look of exasperation mingled with fondness in the last bit. She knew _that_ look well. _Very_ well, in fact. It’d ended once in a kiss between them in a moment a few months ago at the annual company party.
    
    
      _What? Why wouldn’t I? There was nothing better to read._
    
    
    
      _Not even the paper?_
    
    
    
      _Not even the paper. It’s too doomy and gloomy. Gimme happy. I want happy, not the world is ending…_
    
    
    
      _You’re exasperating._
    

Niamh heard Cullen’s sigh in the last message, and grinned.
    
    
      _I’m not exasperating, I’m adorable, and you know it._
    

“Niamh?”

Niamh glanced up, dropping her phone back into her handbag. She walked to the counter to pick up the the takeaway coffees and the two slices of carrot cake in their awkward cardboard trays.

Someone stepped aside to let her out of the cafe, and Niamh walked slowly back to the office. Cars passed, headlights shining in the light spring mist blowing in off the sea, and she took a moment to breathe in the salty water scent that was so much a part of the life of Ostwick City. The boats bobbed on their moorings, the sea grey and choppy as she looked out over the water towards Brandel’s Reach. The Waking Sea today was a thing of crashing waves spraying up over the cliffs, roaring in its intensity. The wind whipped her hair around her face, and she blew strands out of her mouth as she continued walking back to the relative safety of her office building.

The Trevelyan Ink building was a grand old sandstone building, sitting squarely on the corner of the street. Built by the talented stonemasons of Orzammar, it had stood against the corrosion of sand and wind and waves for the past seven ages. She’d always loved visiting it when she’d been a girl, loved staring up at the columns and imagining the dwarves who’d built it. She’d loved getting to ride the elevator up to her granddad’s office, the old-world cage rattling as it travelled up the four storeys to the top floor, and now her granddad’s office was hers. She’d not changed it much: it still had his desk and bookshelves, the stained glass windows which cast soft ruby light on the books lining the walls. The desk, an old-fashioned leather-topped one made from gleaming oak, and the high backed desk chair matched the leather couch. It still felt like her granddad’s office.

The automatic doors swished open as she approached the building, nodding a greeting to Thom Reinier as she passed through them on the way up to the gleaming elevator doors. Thom waved at her.

“Afternoon, Miss Trevelyan,” he said.

“How many times have I asked you to call me Niamh?” Niamh smiled.

“Since you were three, and I never will, Miss Trevelyan,” Thom said, hitting the call button for the elevator. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full, might as well call the elevator down for you. Are the coffees for you and Rutherford?”

“Yeah, they are. Thanks, Thom,” Niamh said, standing back for the elevator doors to open.

She stepped in, and pressed the button for the fourth floor, juggling the trays of takeaway. The cage doors slid closed, and with a groan, the old-fashioned elevator creaked precariously up to the desired level of the building. Her phone rang, and, still juggling the coffee cups and the paper bag covering the two slices of cake, she fumbled for it, the tray with the cake tumbling to the floor. Niamh cursed under her breath, sliding her finger across the phone screen as she gave the cake up as a lost cause. The cake was meant to be to calm her nerves in preparation for the speech she was to give tonight.

“This is Niamh,” she said to the caller, wedging her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she crouched down to see if she could at least salvage one slice of the delicious carrot cake. “Harry, calm down. Talk to me slowly, and tell me what’s happened with the kidding…”

“It’s a disaster, Mum,” Harry said, and Niamh heard the distress in his voice. “One of the goats has a kid stuck in the canal, the other is about to go into labour— her back end is all soft, and I can’t get the vet to come until later.”

“Take a breath, Harry,” Niamh soothed, “I’d come out to help if I didn’t have a gala tonight. Let me call another vet and see if they’ll come out on short notice.”

“I’ve tried about four— none of them want to work with goats. I’ll just have to pull her kid and pray for the best,” Harry said.

Niamh suddenly had a brain wave. “Call Pat. She’s next door to you, and I’m sure she’ll know what to do. Or, I can call her and explain?”

“I’ll do that,” Harry sounded slightly calmer, and Niamh heard the familiar sound in the background of a goat bleating loudly. “Thanks Mum.”

Niamh hung up, waiting for the door of the elevator to open. She’d given up on the cake as a lost cause, she just hoped Cullen wouldn’t be _too_ disappointed. They at least still had coffee. Or at least, given her recent failure with the cake, she _hoped_ they’d still have their coffees. She stepped out of the elevator into the wood-panelled top floor of the Trevelyan Ink building. Light spilled out into the corridor, and she smelled the familiar scent of embrium, Highever roses, and Andraste’s Grace in a vase on a low side table, the profusion of pale pink, white, and red blossoms a bright contrast to the heavy wood and old-fashioned carpet.

Her phone rang a second time, and she cursed under her breath. Tapping the phone’s green call symbol, she answered.

“This is Niamh,” she said.

“Niamh, thank the Maker you answered, I wasn’t sure you would,” the voice at the other end of the line sounded stressed, harassed. “Look, we’ve got a bit of a situation here. Professor Solas is unable to emcee the ceremony tonight. Anyone else you can think of?”

“Slow down, Josephine,” Niamh sighed. Half her day seemed taken with talking people off proverbial cliffs. “I’ll see if I can think of anyone. Find someone else, I trust you. And Professor Solas manages to insult half of the authors we’re awarding anyway.”

“Oh, this is a mess…. Who will we get at such short notice?” Josephine said.

“That’s your job. I’m just a publishing house, darling,” Niamh said, not unsympathetic to Josephine’s problem. “I have full confidence you’ll find someone.” She added the manuscript her secretary handed her to her growing pile of items she was juggling as she reached her office door. Her phone, jammed between her shoulder and ear, threatened to slip from it’s already precarious position. She _really_ hoped she wouldn’t drop anything else, her silk blouse was new, and she didn’t particularly fancy changing.

Her keys slipped from her hand, and she cursed. Like a row of dominoes, it set off the chain reaction she’d been hoping to _avoid_. The already-depleted cafe goodies tumbled from her hand, the manuscript slipping out of her hands, landing with a wet splash in the puddle of coffee, cups on their side. She pulled a large man’s handkerchief from her bag, and began an ultimately futile attempt to salvage the pages.

“Sorry Josephine, I’ve just.. I’ll call you later, okay?” She swore under her breath at the annoying smart phone, jabbing at the end call icon on the touchscreen. Sighing, she attempted to salvage the manuscript, wiping futilely at the coffee-splashed pages.

“Here, let me,” Cullen’s voice was a mixture of amusement and sympathy.

Niamh glanced up to see him removing his jacket and cuff links, placing them safely out of the disaster, and watched for a moment as he rolled up his sleeves. He grabbed the still-dry sheets of paper from the top of the pile.

“It’s not my day, really,” Niamh sighed, and continued to dab at the puddle of paper and coffee. “I swear, something happened between The Old Coach House and the two blocks back to the office. I’ve not the faintest idea what, but my subconscious might be the problem— I’ve got stage fright and I have to give a speech at the gala tonight.”

“It sounds like you’re very tired,” Cullen said, looking down at her with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Come on, let’s clean this up, then get you cleaned up. And then get you another coffee.”

“Cullen…” Niamh’s voice trailed off as she looked up at her best friend and chief financial officer. “Are you offering to clean me up?”

“You know I would,” Cullen chuckled.

A wicked smile crossed her lips. “Don’t you know that sort of offer ends up with the people doing the horizontal salsa? Or at least, it seems to lead to such things in half the books we publish.”

His hand covered hers, squeezing it gently. His other hand rubbed the back of his neck as his smile broadened. “If that happened, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

She bit her lip. “I suppose the manuscript and our coffees, _and_ my silk blouse are a lost cause,” she said, sighing again as she surveyed the wreckage. “This _was_ a new blouse— I only bought it over the weekend.” She dabbed at a milky stain that blossomed and her shirt clung annoyingly to her bra.

“C’mon, let’s get you into fresh, un-coffee stained clothes, and we’ll talk about tonight while we’re at it,” Cullen said, getting to his feet as he picked up the remains of the novel, setting it down on the low cabinet.

“Help me up?” Niamh extended her hand, and Cullen pulled her to her feet. “I’ve no idea why I make things so hard for myself. I don’t know what I was thinking, accepting the novel when my hands were already full.”

“Our secretary needs a word or two,” Cullen said, his hand lingering on her waist as he steadied her.

“Probably,” Niamh agreed, her heart beating rapidly as he lead her into her office, and closed the door behind them.

“This has been the afternoon from hell. Professor Solas has cancelled, we’re having to find a replacement, and my stage fright is already getting the better of me. The coffee and cake were meant to be a moment of calm, but even that’s fallen by the wayside…” Her stomach churned, butterflies chased away into waves of anxiety roiled inside her. “And Harry called in a right state about one of his goats. The vets won’t come out to pull a kid stuck in the birthing canal, and…” Niamh closed her eyes, letting herself lean against his shoulder for a moment, before remembering her uncomfortably damp blouse.

“You’ve had a bad afternoon,” Cullen said, leading her to her couch and helping her to sit. He rubbed her back gently as she hyperventilated. “Were you able to talk Harry through his crisis?”

“Yeah. I told him to call his next door neighbour, who also has goats. Crisis averted on that front,” Niamh said, leaning into Cullen’s touch. “But the Professor Solas one is not quite as easy to solve. I hope it ends up being a blessing in disguise— he usually manages to damn with faint praise, offending more than he amuses. I told Josephine it was up to her to procure an emcee at such short notice— she’s managed to make miracles happen before.”

Cullen rubbed her back, and Niamh started to relax. Somehow, having Cullen talk her through her panic helped her. Then again, he usually _did_ talk her through the panic, sitting with her until she gathered herself together again.

The night they’d kissed floated through her head, the harvest party only a month before, and the bottle of Tevinter champagne. They’d been the last two people left at the end of the evening, sitting up on the flat roof of the Trevelyan Ink building, an inky black sky dotted with stars, Ostwick silent save for the sounds of the boats far out to sea and the waves crashing against the seawalls, the lighthouse flashing in its intermittent pattern. They’d sat there, enjoying the evening, the champagne bubbling on their tongues, Niamh leaning her head against Cullen’s shoulder, his arm around her. The town clock had chimed midnight, and they’d looked at each other, foreheads coming together, lips meeting in a soft, tender kiss.

Belatedly, she looked down at her ruined blouse, at the milk stains that she knew no amount of dry-cleaning, or spot-cleaning could fix. She sighed, unbuttoning the first three buttons so that her bra showed. Cullen glanced away.

“You don’t have to look away,” Niamh said, linking her fingers through his. “In fact, you’re more than welcome to look.”

Cullen coughed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I mean… “

“More than,” Niamh reached her hand out to cup his cheek, and leaned in to kiss him. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if he would kiss her back, but then his hand slid through her hair, as her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her chest. Fire ignited between them, desire fanning from embers into a bright, burning spark.

Her phone buzzed, and she ignored it, focusing on the kiss that she didn’t want to break, throwing caution to the wind, and _giving in_ to the feelings she had for the golden-haired man. Sliding her hands up his waistcoat, feeling the solid muscles beneath his shirt, the sheer _solidity_ of him a very tangible thing. There was desire, wanting, aching. Finally giving in to those feelings, she threw caution to the wind, her hands sliding from behind his neck, dropping down to the buttons on his waistcoat as his fingers flew down the row of pearl buttons on her blouse.

Niamh’s knickers were damp, Cullen’s mouth leaving her lips to drag down the column of her throat, as she tipped her head back to allow him better access. Her fingers fumbled on the long line of buttons on his shirt, Cullen’s hands following his mouth as he kissed across her shoulders, his fingers reaching behind her to unclasp her bra.

“We should probably pause for a moment,” Niamh said reluctantly, hating herself for ruining this. “I should probably lock the door, at any rate.”

“That’s an idea,” Cullen agreed. He crossed the room, pulling down the blinds. “Though people probably already think we’re doing this.”

Niamh giggled. “Well… I’ve been wanting to do this since the party,” she said.

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was worried you didn't feel the same way I did,” she admitted, biting her lip.

“Niamh, we _kissed_ , and as I recall, it was a wonderful kiss,” Cullen said. “Maker’s breath, we’ve wasted enough time dancing around our feelings for each other.”

“Definitely,” Niamh agreed, biting her lip again. “I don’t want to waste _more_ time than we’ve already wasted.”

“So why did we?” Cullen asked.

“I have no idea,” Niamh said. “I’m an idiot— I think that’s why.” She tugged the elastic out of her hair, running her fingers through the strands, separating it, shaking her head as she glanced down at her blouse and bra once again. She was glad she’d worn her prettiest, favourite bra underneath her shirt— not that she’d expected that she’d be half-naked in front of Cullen— it was more a boost to stop the anxiety from spreading too much.

She stood, crossing to the solid door to lock it, ensuring nobody could interrupt them for however long this… thing would take. Returning to the couch, she looked at Cullen, the smoldering look in his eyes making her weak in the knees— he’d always been attractive, the way the scar along his top lip tugged whenever he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He gave her another look, and Niamh leaned in once again to kiss him, touching her lips to the scar, before his mouth slid across to hers, his hand cupping her cheek. Their tongues met, dancing, kissing. Sliding her hands along Cullen’s abdomen, she reached for his belt buckle. Cullen’s mouth dragged down the column of her throat, leaving feather-light kisses down it.

“I like that,” she said, her hand sliding through his hair as he left hot kisses along her collarbones, pausing when he reached her shoulders. He looked up at her, reverence in his gaze. Niamh undid her trousers, and Cullen’s mouth grazed over the skin of her stomach, planting soft kisses along the planes of her belly. “Keep this up, and I’ll forget all about my nerves about tonight. Which would be a very good thing.”

“Well, let me keep distracting you then,” Cullen said, hooking his fingers in her trousers and pulling them down. He kissed the inside of her thighs, his mouth moving closer and closer to her knickers, and paused, leaning his chin on her leg. “Unless you actually _want_ butterflies in your stomach?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Distract me, please,” Niamh instructed, smiling. “It’s either this, or a restorative cup of tea, laced with whiskey to help calm the nerves, and _this_ is much more pleasurable.”

“Alright then,” Cullen said. He kissed the scar that ran along her pubic bone, before he kissed down along her quim, his mouth closing over the tangled thatch of curls, his tongue flicking against the bud of flesh found there.

Niamh opened to him, and gasped in pleasure as Cullen’s tongue continued to tease her. He pleasured her with a reverence she didn’t know was possible, her hips bucking up off the couch. And then he added his fingers, one finger parting her folds to nestle between her legs, before she dragged him back up to kiss her, tasting herself on his tongue. More fire burned between them, and Cullen pressed his hard cock against her, and Niamh moaned, wanting to feel him inside her, impatient and damp.

His eyes met hers as her hands found his cock, and she saw how his eyes closed as she ran her hand up and down his cock, her thumb touching the tip, as he shuddered from her touch. Their lips met for another searing kiss. This was better than how she’d imagined it would feel, and she loved every second of it. There were no words left for them.

Reaching for a condom, Niamh ripped the foil package open with her teeth. She winked at Cullen, a saucy smile crossing her face as she grasped his cock, teasing him. A breathless moan came from Cullen as she rolled it down his length, following her fingers with her mouth, and running her tongue along the underside of his cock. She glanced up at him, his eyes hooded, burning with smouldering heat that only heightened her own arousal. She continued teasing, fingers and tongue running up and down, her mouth following her hand. Her other hand tickled along his balls, and she heard the indrawn breath as Cullen’s hands fisted on the couch.

Deciding to put him out of misery, Niamh glanced up at him. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in ragged, rapid breaths. Moving her mouth away from his cock, she kissed a pathway up his torso, coming back to kiss his lips. Their mouths met once more in another breathless, searing kiss, and she wondered what had taken them both so long to get _here._

Cullen gripped her arms gently, pulling her to him as they continued kissing, slow, languid. They had all the time in the world, making up for the lost time they’d already missed. Niamh felt his hardness pressing against her stomach, and she shifted, gasping in pleasure as he sheathed himself in her, inch by glorious inch, allowing her to adjust with every thrust and roll of his hips against her own. They moved together, his hands framing her face for a soft kiss; reverence in every movement. She met every thrust, her hands clutching at his back, her head rolling back as Cullen’s mouth trailed hot, soft kisses down the column of her throat, and he continued to move within her.

Her hips rose and fell as Cullen’s steady pace built the desire within. His mouth found her breast, and he traced a circle around her nipple with his tongue as she arched her back, whimpering. Her mouth met his in another fiery kiss, hair falling in a curtain around her face as they continued moving.

At last, lying there spent and flushed, Niamh’s head on Cullen’s shoulder, she traced the scar on his lip with her thumb, and Cullen nipped gently. She leaned against him.

“Why on earth didn’t we do this sooner?” Niamh asked, looking up at Cullen’s face, her eyes wide.

“I’m not sure… But it was worth the wait,” Cullen said, his finger tracing idle circles on her hip.

“I agree,” Niamh smiled. “I almost want to skip the boring function tonight, spend it with you here—"

Her words were cut off by a kiss. It was hard, rough, and she loved every second of it. Cullen’s hand tangled in her hair, his other hand cradling her neck. He dragged her across his body, never breaking the kiss, his free hand dragging her up across his body, so she lay flush against him. Niamh felt his cock stirring to life once again, her hand cupping Cullen’s cheek.

“Don’t you…” Cullen murmured. “Have somewhere…” He kissed her again, “To be?”

She smiled, and wide and jubilant. “Come with me to the event if you…” Niamh said, her nose nuzzling Cullen’s. “Want to.”

“Is that…” Another kiss. “An offer?”

“It might be,” she tilted her head back, gazing into the warm honey eyes that met hers. “You’ll just have to find out.”

Cullen smiled. Niamh kissed him again. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” She rose on her elbows, smiling again as she rolled off, looking at him as she strutted across the room to her desk.

Niamh bent over the desk, making sure Cullen could see her arse as she cleared the papers off her desk and shut down her laptop, putting it in the desk drawer and turned back to him. Deliberately, she perched at the edge of the desk, opening her legs in an invitation for him to come over. Niamh watched as Cullen gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he came towards her. She looked at him, her eyes fixed on his rapidly hardening cock, and then back at him, seeing the naked _want_ in his eyes. He discreetly disposed of the condom, as Niamh opened the desk drawer to pull out another small, foil package.

Cullen knelt down in front of her, and she scooted closer to him, her legs draping over his shoulders. Niamh’s hand reached behind her, one hand supporting her as Cullen’s hands ghosted along her thighs, pressing soft kisses along the insides of them, his stubble a pleasant rasp as his mouth came closer and closer to her quim. Yet, he seemed intent on teasing, never closing his mouth over the most sensitive spot between her thighs. One of his hands came to brush her clit with his thumb, and she let out a cry of pleasure as he rubbed that most sensitive bud of flesh.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed, as her spare hand threaded through his golden hair, urging him on. Her breath came in short pants, and he finally closed his mouth over her quim. For one long moment, he let that be the only sensation she felt, and then his tongue pressed up against her, and Niamh breathed in, loving the sensation. Slowly, tortuously, he licked her, languid, lazy strokes that had her gasping for more. She curled her toes, stroking his back with her foot.

“I don’t intend to, unless you ask,” he said, a little breathlessly, meeting her eyes. There was an intensity in his gaze that took her breath away, a hunger and a desire that mirrored her own. She hauled him to his feet, pulling him to her as their lips met in an intense, searing kiss. He put one hand down beside hers, their fingers entwining as their lips met once again. Her hand threaded through his hair, and he did the same with hers, cradling her head as their kiss continued. Her legs wrapped around him, dragging him down onto the desk with her. He chuckled lightly.

“Are you sure you’re up for round two?” Niamh asked softly, breath coming in quick pants now. “I wouldn’t want to wear you out… I mean, we _do_ have a function— well, _I_ have a function to attend, as much as I don’t want to go…”

“Niamh, you don’t have to invite me. But, if you want, I’ll come with you. But you could always skip…” Cullen chuckled, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She tilted her head to the side, eyeing him. “You have great ideas,” her face fell. “Granny expects me to be there— we’re meant to be accepting an award on her behalf…” she broke off as Cullen kissed her. “But maybe I can get away with it…”

“Send Cathal in your place?” Cullen suggested, raising his eyebrows. “I mean, he does _work_ for her.”

She smiled, reaching across the desk to grab the second condom. “So we’d best make the most of this…” Niamh tore the foil package, and removed the condom, her fingers making short work of rolling it onto his cock. “C’mon,” she said.

Cullen chuckled. “Eager, Ms Trevelyan?” he quirked his eyebrow, nipping at her lip, bending down to kiss the column of her throat, her breasts. A trail of kisses between the hollow of her breasts, pressing the crown of his cock against her entrance. Her legs wrapped around his hips, as she rose on her elbows, eyes meeting he sheathed himself deep inside her. She let out a low moan.

“Stop talking,” Niamh grinned. “Actually, _don_ _’t_ stop talking. I love your voice—” she broke off as a low moan escaped her throat, and smiled again.

“So which do you want? Talking, or no talking?” Cullen asked, his voice low and husky in her ear.

She shivered. “Both?” She raised her eyebrows, biting her lip. “Keep doing that, and we’ll be even _later_ than we already are…”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Cullen chuckled, shifting himself so that he settled deeper inside her.

“It might be…” Niamh gave him an impish smile again. She batted her eyelashes as she rose on her elbows, “Or, it might be an invitation to delay entirely….”

“You don’t want to go?” Cullen quirked an eyebrow, caressing her left breast as he continued moving.

“Not particularly,” Niamh said. “Not when this is so much more enjoyable than some boring awards gala…” She couldn’t stop the smile that crept across her face.

Cullen chuckled. “I’m happy to hear it.” He bent over and kissed her again, their tongues meeting, swirling, dancing.

Niamh’s arm snaked across his neck, pulling him closer to her. Her head rolled back, her elbows supporting her as she did so. He reached between them, his fingers finding the sensitive bud of flesh between her thighs. Her fingers tufted in his blonde curls, her mouth open, breath coming in short pants. Every touch of Cullen’s brought her closer to her release, his fingers and his cock, simultaneously stroking a rhythm that had her arching her back.

“That’s it,” she mumbled, her voice barely more than a breathy whisper. Her eyes met his, her hand once more gliding through his hair. “Keep go—” she broke off as she arched her back again, the waves of pleasure building to a crescendo, and she bit down on her lip. The _last_ thing she needed was the mostly-deserted office hearing her release— Josie would ask for intimate details, Varric would give Cullen _helpful hints—_ or was that Bull? She shook her head mentally, but the image refused to budge.

Cullen’s fingers continued rubbing her clit, his mouth covering hers. Her toes curled, their tongues dancing as they both rode out their orgasm, clinging to one another, flushed and wholly sated. Niamh laid her head down on her desk, as Cullen gently withdrew. He kissed her forehead, discreetly disposing of the used condom in the bin, before walking into the private bathroom attached to her office. He returned a few moments later with a soft washcloth, kneeling between her legs. He took one of her thighs, gently spreading her legs as he ran the soft washcloth over her most intimate parts, his hand caressing the places the washcloth had touched seconds earlier.

“If we don’t stop this, we’ll never make it to that gala,” Niamh pointed out, as Cullen kissed her thigh.

“Do you really _want_ to go?” Cullen asked, resting his chin on her thigh.

He was impossible to say no to; his eyes were irresistible, golden pools of honey. She looked away, not embarrassed, but to hide the effect they were having on her.

“We have to,” Niamh bit her lip. “It’s the biggest night of the year in the publishing industry; we can’t _not_ go.”

“So send Rufus or Cathal,” Cullen said gently. “They’re just as capable…”

“And miss the chance to look glamorous? Perish the thought,” Niamh said, giggling. “Now go, so I can get into my dress… Actually, wait. I’ll need your help with the zip.”

Niamh hopped off her desk, hunting for her knickers. She located her bra, putting it on, as she tried to hunt her knickers down. They were somewhere in the office, she just didn’t know _where_. Picking up a black garment bag from the back of her office door, she unzipped it, and removed the black silk dress. She stepped into it, stuffing her arms in the sleeves. She glanced back at Cullen, shooting him a silent question. He came to stand behind her, his fingers nimble as he zipped up the dress, a lingering touch along her back. Niamh turned to him, a smile on her face. Finally giving up on that particular pair of knickers, she unlocked the bottom of her desk drawers, grabbing a pair of seamless knickers and tugged them on.

“Thank you,” she said, wanting this moment to continue. “For everything.”

She handed him his briefs, and her eyes travelled his body, watching Cullen as he dressed. He dressed carefully, a military precision in the way he pulled on his trousers, and her smile widened as he buttoned his shirt up, handing him his cuff links with the templar shield engraved on them. A relic, Niamh knew, of his former life. She’d never asked, and he’d never told her— and maybe that was a good thing. She’d let him talk about it on his own time. Cullen’s hands shook, and Niamh moved to help him, sticking the stud into the buttonhole, and adjusting the cuff. Locating Cullen’s tie from behind her sofa, she came back to stand in front of him, looping the silk around his neck. Their lips met in a soft kiss, before Niamh’s hands slipped down to his chest, her palms resting there briefly.

They left the building, Niamh slipping her hand into Cullen’s as they rode downstairs to the lobby, and out into the night.


	2. Baby Let Me Follow You Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another thank you is due to [Barbex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/barbex) for her betaing. This fic would not be the thing it is today without your help.

_Can I come home with you, baby can I come home with you?_

_Yes I'll do anything in this god-almighty world_

_If you just let me come home with you._

_\- Baby Let Me Follow You Down,_ Bob Dylan

“Have you seen my knickers?” Niamh asked, as Cullen zipped up his trousers.

“Nope. They’ll turn up, though,” Cullen said, leaning in for a kiss.

“We’re here,” the driver said.

Niamh glanced across at Cullen as a liveried chauffeur in the colours of the Trevelyan estate opened the door of the limousine. She reached for his hand, discretely checking him over for evidence of their little dalliance in the car. She ran her hand through his hair, attempting to settle the errant curls that flopped down on his forehead. Her own hair, she knew, was a lost cause. Sighing, more out of a wish to remain in the limo than of frustration, she carefully exited the car, deliberately giving the flashing cameras nothing to talk about. She glanced behind her as Cullen slid something discretely into his pocket, and she gave him a look, raising her eyebrow. He tilted his head back slightly, before linking his fingers through hers.

“Thanks for finding my knickers,” she whispered, squeezing his hand lightly. “That’s the _last_ thing I want my brothers finding when they next get in…”

Cullen chuckled. “We can’t have that.” His other hand rested in the small of her back, and she leaned back into the touch.

“Lady Niamh! Over here!” A photographer called to her, and Niamh turned obediently, flashing a brilliant smile as the flash from the camera went off. “That was lovely. Who are you wearing tonight?”

“Effie Malone. She sent the dress last night,” Niamh replied. “I know you’re contractually-obliged to ask, and my answer is always Effie Malone. I’ve been loyal to her designs since she started her boutique.”

The reporter chuckled. “As always, Lady Niamh, it’s a pleasure.”

“Do you normally answer those questions like that?” Cullen’s voice was low in her ear, his mouth tantalisingly close. “Because it’s rather charming seeing you charm photographers…”

She shivered pleasurably. “Keep talking like that, and we won’t even _make_ it back to my house tonight…”

“I didn’t know that was even an option,” Cullen said, chuckling now. “I’d love to hear what other plans you’ve got for tonight…”

“Well, that’s for _me_ to know, and if you stop distracting me for a moment, I’ll fill you in on the way home.”

They moved through the line of photographers, pausing and posing as they demanded answers to the same five inane questions. Her smile and patience by the time they found their way inside the lavish hall were both forced, but somehow Cullen’s company made her smile. He’d whispered sarcastic replies low in her ear as she replied to those questions.

“So, what exactly is this award for?” Cullen asked, having now secured two glasses of champagne. Passing one to her, she took it gratefully.

“Maker only knows. I think it’s for innovation in defying gender norms in publishing,” she made a face, gulping down a sip of champagne. It tasted _sour_ , like something she’d expect to buy for a sovereign down at the local bottle shop. “Who _decides_ the champagne budget? I’ve had nicer from the local bottle shop for a sovereign.”

Cullen laughed. “I was worried it was just _me_ who thought this champagne tasted terrible. Someone in the vineyard must be sleeping with the judge’s panel if they managed to win awards for it.”

“It happens more often than you’d think,” Niamh chuckled. “To terrible champagne and ambiguous awards.” Taking another sip, she made another face. “No, I rephrase that. To truly, Maker-awful, terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad champagne. The sort that requires kisses…” she paused, her eyes dancing. “Preferably ones _not_ tasting of said champagne.”

“I’ll find us something palatable. They _do_ have a bar, I hope?” Cullen’s eyebrows rose as he spoke. “I hope their whisky is at least… five years old.”

“Please,” Niamh agreed. “And there’s _always_ an open bar at these events. How else did Samson wind up sleeping with Vivienne de Fer? Liberal amounts of alcohol.”

Cullen chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of her head as he headed off in search of the bar.

Niamh glanced around the room, taking in the sheer…. Well, she hesitated to call the decor tacky, but it wouldn’t be the DeLauncet family’s biggest faux-pas. No, their biggest transgression tonight seemed to be the champagne. She vaguely recalled the brief time she’d dated Emile, and shuddered.

“Ah, Ms Trevelyan. You look as gorgeous as the last time our paths crossed…” Emile, as though summoned by her thoughts, materialised at her side. He kissed the air on either side of her face, and out of politeness, she returned the greeting.

“Emile,” Niamh forced the smile, and moved quickly past him. “I just spotted my cousin, if you’ll excuse me.”

Not waiting for the man to respond, she made a beeline for the stately bar in search of Cullen. Emile was known as a terrible flirt, a boor, and a general menace to society at large— yet she never found herself more than simply bemused by how little the DeLauncet family cared. Finding Cullen, Niamh linked her arm through his, glad to be away from the self-proclaimed Casanova and his horrible breath.

“There you are,” Niamh said, pecking Cullen’s cheek. “Only had to dodge Emile DeLauncet trying to rekindle a teenage foolishness. He’s harmless.”

“Well, here’s your whiskey. I hope it tastes far better than their champagne,” Cullen said, handing her a glass of whisky.

“Thanks,” she took a sip, rolling the smoky, peated whisky around her tongue, savouring it. “That’s more like it.”

Now on the balcony, Niamh rested her forearms against the balustrade, taking in the cool night air. Cullen stood next to her, their shoulders rubbing together in a comfortable silence. Stars sparkled against a backdrop of navy sky, and the maze beyond the mansion, where they could make out the sound of water trickling into some far-off fountain.

With Cullen, silence was easy. There was no forced, inane chatter. If she couldn’t be comfortable in silence with someone, then what was the point of being friends with them? Cullen’s arm rested lightly against her back, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. Soon, they would have to go back in, to the auditorium filled with people. She wanted _this_ to last, the uncomplicated silence between her and Cullen.

Sighing as she finished her whisky, Niamh looked up at Cullen. Maker, she wanted to spend the rest of her night here, on this balcony.

“I suppose we’ll have to go back in— find our seats for the boring part of the night now,” she said, her tone reluctant.

Cullen caught her hand as she turned to go, and pulled her to him. His hand rested on her waist as he tilted her chin up with his spare hand, his eyes unreadable as his lips met hers. She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, warm, sure, her eyes closing as she gave herself wholly over to kissing Cullen. She wanted to do more than kiss him, and she wanted to do nothing more than stay in this moment, on this gloriously warm spring night, with the stars twinkling above them, the moon smiling benignly down on them, the scent of flowers faintly wafting up in the light breeze from the gardens below.

But they had an award to accept. Reluctantly, she ended the kiss, knowing her lipstick was lost beyond all repair. She didn’t really care about that; let the gossips print something _accurate_ for once in their lives. She linked her fingers through Cullen’s as they walked back inside, into the throng of bedazzling dresses and men looking dapper in their black tie attire. Following the rest of the men and women into the auditorium, they found their seats in the second row, and Niamh was glad they weren’t directly in the first— the first row always left her with a painful neck from glancing up towards the stage.

“You’re the best-dressed here,” Cullen said in her ear, low and huskily. “What I want to do with you when we get home…”

“If you want to tell me, you can. It’ll keep me from dying from nerves here….” Niamh leaned over to whisper back to him. “And you’re awfully bold assuming we’ll even _make_ it home.”

Cullen’s chuckle was reward enough.

A rather distinguished gentleman wearing a flamboyantly cut frock coat and top hat strutted onto the stage, his moustache a thing of beauty, his grey eyes dancing in merriment. The lapels of his coat were cobalt blue, patterned with delicate Andraste’s grace flowers. But the most remarkable thing about his outfit was that where trousers should’ve been, a full black velvet skirt swished behind him. On another man, it would’ve looked like the return of something from the molly houses of the Exalted Age, but on this man, he wore it so supremely confidently that she could not imagine it being anything but masculine.

Flashes from photographers illuminated the auditorium as they scrambled to capture this majestic looking man.

“Well, this _is_ a warm welcome indeed,” the cultured Tevinter accent said, and the auditorium hushed immediately, spellbound by the man onstage. “Especially from Tevinter. I’m Dorian Pavus, and I will be your charming host as we present these very fine literary awards in categories that range from the amazing to the mundane…”

Cullen’s fingers laced between hers as Dorian held the room spellbound with witty anecdotes and zinging one-liners, laughing uproariously. She almost forgot this was meant to be a boring awards ceremony.

“They should get him to emcee every year…” she whispered to Cullen. “He’s far better than Professor Solas, who drones on and on about long-ago authors being far superior to the talents he’s seeing these days. Professor Solas insults every author I’ve ever worked with.”

“Then why?”

“Because he’s a renowned professor of literature, and it adds a certain level of gravitas…. But until tonight, I’d always found these things as about as interesting as watching Cathal clean his fingernails with a knife.” Niamh said, amused. “Although it does give us an excuse next year to go— but only if Dorian’s presenting.”

“And you were worried tonight would be dull,” Cullen smiled. “Thank the Maker it’s exceeding our expectations. I was worried we’d have to sit through something tedious, too.”

“Thank you for coming along as my date,” Niamh said, gently kissing him as the awards were listed and people came onstage to accept them.

“And now, in the _Unexpected Breakout Novel_ category, we have the hysterical _Sera Was Never_ , by Maryden Halewell, published by Trevelyan Ink. I believe Ms Halewell has sent someone to collect it in her place, as she is currently travelling around Thedas in the company of a dashing young lad called Krem, but she has sent her editor here to accept it in her stead.”

Niamh froze.

“Do you normally get stage fright?” Cullen asked, taking her hand gently.

“Horrendously bad, hurl my guts up stage fright has been something of a drawback at these galas, let me tell you,” her tone was light, self-deprecation in each word. “I’ve never worked out an effective fix for it. I know all the old clichés: picture the audience in their underwear, etc, and none of them work.”

“Well, search me out in the crowd, I’ll be thinking about the audience in tutus for you. Maybe that’ll work,” Cullen said softly, for her ears alone.

“That’s us,” Niamh whispered, gently disengaging her hand from Cullen’s, standing, and walking carefully up the steps towards the stage.

Dorian handed her the small golden nug statuette, and she accepted it gratefully. Though she’d prepared a speech in advance, it seemed to have disappeared from her brain. She searched the room, seeing their expectant faces until they blurred together Into a sea of bland beige blobs. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and re-opened them, eyes landing on Cullen’s. His face wasn’t a part of the sea of blobs; his was sharp and she saw encouragement in his eyes, and a grimace crossing his face for a brief second.

Exhaling once more, at Cullen’s almost imperceptible nod, she mentally castigated herself for getting stage-fright, _again_. Then again, it’d been months since her last public humiliation had graced the tabloid columns with the rather offensive and inaccurate rumour that she’d had a few drinks too many which had caused her to throw up onstage. The lies had done some damage to her reputation, but she’d managed to claw herself out of that mess.

“I’m Niamh Trevelyan, here to accept the award on Maryden’s behalf. She is currently in Minrathous and having a ball. I first read…”

The speech went surprisingly well, she thought. She returned to her seat, slipping her hand into Cullen’s.

“That went well,” Cullen said, encouragingly.

“Well, considering I didn’t bolt from the stage when I started, nor did I hurl up my guts…” Niamh let her voice trail off. “I’d say it was a win. Thank you for imagining the audience in tutus for me…”

“Anytime,” Cullen smiled at her, kissing her on the cheek.

“Now that I’ve done my obligations the evening, I think we can safely slip out. Nobody will notice,” she said, smiling. “Even if we _are_ in the second row, they’ll just assume we’ve gone to replenish our drinks.”

“Do you like dogs?” Cullen asked as they left the auditorium.

“I do,” Niamh said. “Why? Do you have one?” She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Yeah. A mabari, had him a few years now. He’ll be going stir-crazy at home waiting for his walk…” Cullen’s voice trailed off. “Do you want to come back to mine?”

Niamh smiled. “I’d love to. Though we might need to get me something other than—” she indicated her dress, “this to wear. Let me call Harry.”

She reached into her satin-lined evening bag for her phone. A few moments later, she hung up, walking back over to Cullen with a smile. Looping her arm around his, she leaned against his bicep as she waited for the car to arrive. Five minutes passed in comfortable silence, Cullen’s arm around her waist, as though they'd always been this close. Seeing his house seemed the logical next step; he’d already been to hers, ostensibly on business.

“For the record, you’d be welcome to sleep in one of my shirts,” Cullen said, as Niamh looked up at him.

There was something soft in his eyes that had her melting all over again. “But still… It’s an imposition,” she said. “Especially seeing as this is the first time I’ve been invited back to anyone’s house in a very, very long time.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Cullen said. “And it’s been a very, very long time since I’ve invited anyone back to my house.” He gently kissed her forehead, as a car pulled up to the curb.

A tall, lanky young man with red hair unfolded himself from the passenger’s seat, a small overnight bag in one hand. He walked up to Niamh and Cullen, a little abashed, and smiled shyly.

“Cullen, you remember Harry, right? My cousin and protege,” Niamh introduced them, warmth in her voice.

Harry nodded, a polite smile on his face. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, sticking his hand out for Cullen to shake it.

“Pleasure to see you, too,” Cullen replied, shaking Harry’s hand. “Thanks for bringing the overnight bag.”

He took it from Harry, and Niamh noticed the ease with which Cullen slung it over his back. It made her feel all warm and tingly inside at the thought.

“Thank you,” Niamh kissed Harry on the cheek. “I’m sorry to drag you away from your kids, but I _did_ need my bag.”

“….Kids?” Cullen raised his eyebrows.

“Goats, Cullen. Not human babies. He has several goat babies he’s raising on the bottle,” Niamh said kindly, looking between Cullen and Harry. “Anyway, thank you again, Harry. It was really good of you to come through. You could’ve said no.”

Harry shrugged. “You’re my mum. I’d do anything you asked.”

Cullen’s eyes widened, raising his eyebrows at Niamh.

“I pretty much raised him, took him on when I was sixteen,” she explained quickly. “He was five, and being pretty neglected by his mum, my aunt.” She scowled, remembering. “But. He’s turned out pretty great.”

Reaching up, she tousled Harry’s hair, before he swatted her hand away good-naturedly. “Right. I should head off,” Harry said, a trifle awkwardly.

“Got the money for an Uber?” Niamh asked, fishing her credit card out of her wallet and handing it to Harry. “You can charge all the beer, pizza, and entertainment you want to it. I’ll be home tomorrow evening.”

Harry nodded, and pulled his phone out of his pocket, and Niamh turned to Cullen, leaning against him as she watched Harry order a cab home. Niamh liked the feeling of Cullen’s arm around her waist, as though it had always been this way between them.

—

The cab pulled up in a sleepy, well-lit street, the trees turning from green to gold and brown. It was a small cul-de-sac with neat, orderly lawns and carefully-cultivated gardens. A low brick wall made a fence around the property, a simple wooden gate set in the middle. It was an older house, small, with white planked boards, stained glass windows set into the front of the house. A profusion of roses climbed a trellis, and the night air carried with it the fragrance of early winter: smoke from unseen wood fires wafted in the breeze, the salt and tang of ocean spray from the roaring ocean not too far from there. Small steps on the portico led to a stained-glass door, which Cullen unlocked, turning the handle as he shielded Niamh from the very large mabari trying to make his way past them.

As far as mabari war hounds went, this one rivalled her cousin’s mabari, affectionately known as the Loon. “What’s his name?” Niamh asked, extending her hand down for the dog to sniff it.

“Calenhad,” Cullen replied, pushing the door open, and reaching for the pull cord that turned on the lights. The hallway, illuminated by warm golden light, held a hall stand, neat and orderly, a table lamp throwing stained glass light on the soft golden oak flooring. White walls held a few carefully selected framed prints. The house felt welcoming, warm, and lived-in. 

“You named him after the Silver Knight?” Niamh raised her eyebrows, following Cullen as he led her down the hallway and into a large, open space.

“Yeah, bit of a history buff,” Cullen said, as Niamh took in the small living room, stuffed with bookshelves and smelling like old books.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said, giggles betraying her. She’d _definitely_ noticed he was a history buff; most of the stories he liked were history. “Actually, I _had_ noticed that your office had a fair number of history books on the shelves.”

Cullen smiled. “Guilty. Want anything to drink?”

“Water, I think,” Niamh said, absently scratching Calenhad’s ears as he leaned against her leg. “Or tea, if you have anything that’s not elfroot. I’m over elfroot tea.”

Cullen chuckled, looking at her and Calenhad, and then back to the kitchen. “Can do. I’ll only be a few minutes. Calenhad seems taken with you.”

“I have a theory that dogs can always spot the dog-deprived, or the soft touches,” Niamh said, continuing to stroke the dog’s ears. They were soft and silken, and his happy pants made her smile. She settled herself on the couch, kicking her heels off as Calenhad followed her, but didn’t jump onto the couch with her. She tucked her legs under, her dress not hampering her. She leaned her head against the back of the couch, closing her eyes for a moment as she took in the sheer _comfort_ of Cullen’s house.

He returned a few minutes with two steaming mugs of tea. Carefully, Cullen set the mug down on the armrest beside her, and settled down on the couch next to her. Steam rose from her mug, and she inhaled the smell of embrium and honey.

“You remembered I like honey in my tea?” Niamh asked, smiling. “Well, we _do_ get coffee rather frequently. It shouldn’t surprise me, really.”

“And the fact that you order it with honey every time we go for dinner,” Cullen said, as he put his free arm around her, drawing her close. “Speaking of which, we should do that for an official date one night. No work talk, nothing but _us_.”

“I like the sound of that,” Niamh said, leaning against his shoulder as they sat in comfortable silence, Calenhad making an exit through the doggy door. She heard him scuffling around outside, and closed her eyes.

“Then… Tomorrow evening?” Cullen suggested, and Niamh looked up at him.

“That sounds _wonderful_ ,” Niamh said. “That is, if we ever make it out the door…” She closed the gap between them, her lips meeting his.

They forgot about their tea.

Cullen’s hand cradled her head, fingers sliding through her hair as she shifted into his lap, his hands tugging her closer to him until they were flush, facing him as the kiss continued. His hand found the zipper at the back of her dress, and pulled away slightly, studying her.

“Yes,” Niamh told him. “But given we’ve already had sex on a couch, and I _won_ _’t_ be going home…” she let her voice trail off as Cullen’s eyes met hers.

“And as great as this couch is, it’s not the best on my back,” Cullen smiled, and Niamh breathed a sigh of relief, grinning as Cullen hefted her into his arms. “So, let’s go to bed….”

Giggling as she allowed herself to be carried, her head resting against his chest, nose nuzzling against his neck as he carried her from the living room into the hallway, down to the bedroom at the end. He put her down as he reached the door. “I’m sorry— I’ll just let Calenhad out.” A quick kiss and he was ambling down the hall to open the doggy door at the end.

Returning, he picked her up again, and she giggled. One hand on the doorknob, he opened the door, reaching for the light pull cord.

The bedroom was flooded in soft, warm light, and Niamh’s eyes took it in. A bed took up most of the space, but she thought the room needed it. Clearly, he’d not finished setting it up; the mattress sat on pallets, and in the corner, she saw the pieces for the rest of the bed frame. Raising her eyebrows at Cullen, she looked pointedly at the rest of the bed frame, and couldn’t help the wide grin that crossed her face.

“Lost interest in putting the whole thing together?” she asked him, teasingly.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Something like that. I’ve not really _needed_ to put up Mum and Dad’s entire bed, but one day, I might get around to it.”

Niamh smiled. “I’m resisting the urge to tell a really corny grandfather joke here,” she said, giggling. “I mean, it’s been how long since you moved in?”

“Seven years,” he said. “Like I said, just haven’t gotten around to putting the bed together. Really should put the pieces in the wardrobe.”

He put her down gently, and she smirked, perching herself on the bed, one leg bent upwards. She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, kneeling down before her, sliding his hands up her calves. She hiked her dress up, reclining on her elbows, as Cullen climbed onto the bed, following her movements. Impatiently, she hauled him over her, their mouths meeting for a kiss, searing desire… and maybe something else igniting between them, his hips settling against hers, her legs wrapping round his waist as her fingers tried to unbutton his shirt.

They broke apart, giggling as though they were both giddy teenagers again, as she helped Cullen out of his shirt and jacket, and he in turn reciprocated, dragging the zipper of her dress down with his teeth, kissing each part of her exposed back as it came down. Her dress in a puddle on the bed, Niamh kicked it off, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her kn— no, she didn’t need to do that. She giggled as Cullen slid her bra straps down, kissing along her shoulders.

“This isn’t fair, I should help you out of your trousers,” Niamh said, reaching for the belt buckle on his dress pants. She undid the buckle, tugging the top button of his fly open, unzipping it. She ran her fingers down his cock, loving it when she heard his breath hitch, and she glanced up at him, seeing his eyes close. Her lips met his once again, her eyes now closing, giving herself wholly over to the kiss. Cullen’s hand found the clasp of her bra, and he unhooked it, and she smiled. Cullen’s hips rocked against hers, teasing again.

“You’re still in your trousers,” she pointed out, her thumbs brushing against the back of his neck, playing with the tufts of hair found there. He grinned at her, and she leaned back, watching as he methodically removed his trousers and his underthings, her eyes on the nasty scar that curved down along the side of his abdomen. A fine golden fuzz led from his belly button to the darker thatch of hair. She smiled softly, rising on her elbows to watch him walk back to the bed. He gathered her into his arms, his breath whispering against the hair at the back of her neck, gooseflesh rising on her arms. His hand drifted down her belly, stroking her hip with his thumb, his other hand brushing her clitoris.

She moaned, her eyes closing as she surrendered to the feeling Cullen roused in her. Desire and dampness flooded through her, and she let her head roll back against his shoulder, his lips nibbling a path from behind her earlobe down her neck, and that, too, felt wonderful. His fingers paused at the entrance to her quim, and she nodded, lost in the feeling of his hands, and his lips, and his presence.

“Oh yes,” Niamh said, her own hand following his as she laid it atop his own. One finger slid inside her, and once again, she surrendered herself to the sensations. Shivers of pleasure licked up her spine, as her hips arched up against his hand, and she moaned as he slid the second one inside. Her eyes closed, her breath quickening, feeling the building of her orgasm, a floating lightness that had her reaching for her nipples, and she rolled her head back against the pillows. Her orgasm seared through her, breath coming in short pants, a racing heart and pounding in her veins. Eyes opening, she felt Cullen's fingers withdrawing from her, trailing his hand lightly up her body.

“Let me do the same for you,” her voice sounded breathy, and Cullen smiled softly at her.

“There’s no need,” he said, nipping her shoulder lightly, his hands cradling her head, his lips meeting hers for a soft kiss, before he stood, walking into the ensuite. He returned a few moments later, a soft washcloth in his hand. “At least let me clean up.”

Sliding under the blankets, her head on the pillow, she barely felt it when he joined her, his arm pulling her close as they both drifted off into dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a note or a comment! I can be found on [tumblr](http://lauraemoriarty.tumblr.com), or on Discord! I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Sara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place about five or six months after the first two chapters.

Now the beach is deserted except for some kelp

And a piece of an old ship that lies on the shore.

You always responded when I needed your help,

You gimme a map and a key to your door.

\- Bob Dylan, _Sara_

“For the last time, _no_ ,” Niamh said, exasperation in every syllable. “You’re a war hound, not a lap dog.”

Calenhad gave her sad puppy eyes, and she rolled her eyes. Maker knew she loved Cullen; Maker knew she loved the dog, too. But it was hard to feel anything but irritation in this very moment; he’d just begged her once more to climb up onto the couch. He had quite the adequate chair that was covered in dog slobber and a rather copious amount of hair— who _knew_ mabari shed that much hair? It _definitely_ explained why there was carpet only in Cullen’s bedroom. She had found herself saying things she’d not had to say since she’d taken on raising Harry.

The roomba— dubbed Bianca— had been a generous gift from Varric to Cullen, found itself employed continuously when the rain lashed the windows and the wind howled. The winter thus far had been a particularly bitter one, and though she kept the fire well-stoked, she missed the golden sunshine of spring. But more than that, she was waiting for Cullen to come home from a trip from Antiva on business; not that he was expected home for another several hours.

She rubbed her eyes, and stretched. Clearly she wasn’t going to get any work done on the couch— Calenhad ensured that. Sighing, she sat up straighter, depositing her laptop onto the coffee table in front of her, and stood. She ambled into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth.

She really ought to light both the heaters— the one in the kitchen-living space, and the one in the study. But, a much more pressing matter: feeding Calenhad and putting him into his pen. Maker knew it was late; Cullen’s plane wouldn’t get in until nine, and she’d been instructed _not_ to come and pick him up at so late an hour. She’d been relieved to not have to drive out to the airport at that hour, the roads were icy, and she wasn’t exactly the best driver. Far better she be waiting here for him with the lights on, and the fires roaring. She opened the fridge, pulling out a gurn steak and a large bone, before calling to Calenhad.

She wrapped her—well, _Cullen_ _’s_ — large woollen jumper around her and stepped into Cullen’s too large elastic-sided boots, opening the back door to let Calenhad out. The icy wind bit through her, and she shivered, briefly reconsidering making the dog stay outside. Then she remembered his kennel was warm and dry, set against the howling wind and driving rain. Calenhad would be snug, safe, and sheltered. She let him into his pen, gave him the bone, and put the gurn steak in the bowl. As she headed back inside, she paused long enough to get an armload of wood, and deposit it in the wood box just inside the door. She opened the door to the wood heater, shoving a few logs in and stoking the embers of the dying fire.

Niamh wanted Cullen home, safe and sound. And thankfully, he’d sent her a message before he’d boarded the plane from Antiva, and that the flight was running on time. The very least she could do was have a hot meal waiting for him. The slow cooker was truly a marvellous invention. Throw frozen meat, add sauce and veggies, and let it simmer for several hours— it had saved her time and again when she’d been single, and now with their work schedules, she was never more grateful for it’s invention.

At least now she could get some work done without Calenhad demanding he be allowed up on the couch. She picked up her laptop and phone, heading into the cosy study they’d recently added a second desk to.

A massive painting of a knight and a damsel hung on the wall opposite the fireplace, and above the fireplace was another, smaller painting of a ship in full rig. The painting of the knight and damsel had been a gift from Granny when she’d moved in— and she smiled every single time she saw it. Now she just had to get through the chapter of the novel she was working on. A tale of swords and sorcery, of epic quests and daring heroes and heroines. Her favourite character had to be her heroine: a girl she’d dubbed The Girl Who Noticed. She sat her laptop down on her desk, remembering she needed a steaming hot mug of peppermint tea. When her tea was made, she picked up the mug and headed back into the study to continue her writing. Losing herself in the writing, she didn’t hear the door open. Her mug of tea was cold when she next reached for it, and she sighed, looking up at the source of the lighting change.

Cullen looked sexy in a suit. Three day’s growth on his neck, chin, and cheeks, his hair ruffled undoubtedly from the wind and rain. He leaned against the doorjamb, quietly waiting for her to notice his presence. She leapt to her feet, her chair spinning rapidly from the abrupt swivel, and she threw herself into his arms. He caught her up in his strong arms, and she inhaled the scent of his cologne, the faintest hint of eucalyptus oil lingering on his woollen waistcoat, her arms wrapping round his neck as she kissed him.

“If this is the welcome I’ll get when I go away for a few weeks…” Cullen’s voice was low and sexy in her ear, and she shivered as his breath tickled her neck.

“I wasn’t expecting you home until later,” Niamh said, pulling back to look at him.

“Early flight. The conference let out earlier for us in the Marches; the blizzard conditions…. And I couldn’t wait to get back home to you,” Cullen said. “Rialto Bay isn’t exactly a tourist hot spot in the dead of winter anyway. Plus, I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m glad you’re home, I’ve missed you,” she said. “I’ve got dinner in the slow cooker— Fereldan lamb stew. Made from my mum’s recipe— haven’t eaten yet...”

Cullen linked his fingers through hers as they left the study. “Anything interesting happen while I was away?” he asked as they reached the kitchen.

Niamh shrugged. “Aside from missing you like crazy? And Calenhad trying to get up on the couch every ten minutes? And getting stuck on the novel, and getting sucked into binge watching three whole seasons of _Lady of Light, n_ o, not really. But, I’m glad you’re home early. I was getting worried with the blizzard setting in.”

Cullen chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve missed you too. Rialto Bay isn’t the same without you. I even went to our favourite spot, overlooking the ocean, and it was wonderful, but I kept thinking about how you’d love it there too… Maybe we go for our anniversary?”

She tilted her head up to kiss him, her arms looping around his neck as his hands rested on her waist. “I think that sounds _perfect_. Going to Rialto Bay, I mean.”

“Well, I’ll book the flights, then. Rialto Bay in spring should be beautiful,” Cullen said, opening the fridge to pull out two beers. Opening them, he handed one to her, and she smiled. She watched as he loosened his tie, and took a sip of his beer, resting his backside against the kitchen counter.

“That would be lovely,” Niamh said, taking a sip of her beer. The aromatic flavours from the wheat and hops created a fruity taste on her tongue. She reached down to the cupboard for the large bowls they used for stews, and pulled two out. Cullen moved deftly out of her way, his hand absently caressing her arse as he passed her. She slid under Cullen’s arm, her hand deliberately brushing against the front of his trousers. She heard his sharp, indrawn breath as she did so, and grinned to herself.

“I’ve missed you,” Cullen told her, setting the bowls on the table before switching off the slow cooker and carried it to the table. “I’ve also missed your cooking.”

Niamh smiled at him. “I’ve missed you too, and I know I’ve said it before, but I really have. I think only Calenhad takes it harder than I do when you’re gone. He keeps staring at the door, and perking his ears up whenever there’s even the slightest _hint_ of a car or bike tyres crunching in the drive.”

She sat, and Cullen pushed her chair in for her, dropping a kiss on her lips. He moved around the table, taking his seat. “That doesn’t surprise me, given how old he is. Still a lot of life— and apparently hearing— left in the old boy.”

“The _best_ old boy,” Niamh agreed. “He kept looking at me as if he wanted me to walk him— in the _blizzard_ , of all things.”

Cullen chuckled.

“Of course he would,” Cullen said, a rueful grin on his face. She watched him for a moment, as he tasted the stew. “And this is _wonderful._ _”_

“Thanks. I made it as close to your mum’s recipe as possible. I’m not sure whether she intended there to be a copious amount of curry powder in it; three _cups_ seems excessive, so I halved it— it’s not like you can even _buy_ curry powder in that quantity,” she said. “I’m pretty sure the recipe got smudged somewhere…”

“It tastes just like hers. Not sure how you managed it,” Cullen said.

“…. Aren’t you supposed to say it’s not as good out of loyalty to your mum?” Niamh teased, her big toe stroking up Cullen’s calf under the table.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” Cullen’s eyebrows rose as she continued stroking his calf.

“Why, do you object?” Niamh countered, smiling. “Or is it working?”

Cullen coughed softly as her foot continued up his leg. “It _might_ be…”

“Well, that’s good,” Niamh said. She licked her lips, trying to gather the courage for the things she must say next. “I’ve been thinking about _us_ while you were in Antiva… And I’ve started thinking I’d like us to at least try for a baby…”

Cullen, she noticed, had tensed up as he listened to the first part of her speech, before visibly relaxing.

“I probably should have led with that,” she said, reaching across the table to caress his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure?” Cullen asked. “About a baby, I mean?”

“I’d like to have a baby with you,” Niamh said, taking a sip of her beer. “In some ways, having a baby is more permanent than getting married, but… how do you feel about it?”

Cullen frowned, thinking about it. He reached for his beer, sipping it in silence as they both ate, and finally, he spoke. “I’d like that, too,” he said, a shy, wondrous smile breaking out over his face as he said the words.

“So….. Should we get started after dinner?” Niamh asked, her foot resuming the stroking along the bulge in his pants. Cullen coughed, and Niamh watched his eyes as they closed for a moment, his breath coming rapidly.

“Forget dinner,” Cullen said. He stood up abruptly, crossing around the table to pull her to her feet. “Why not start now?”

“You’ve got some of the best ideas,” Niamh smiled up at him as he lifted her into his arms, and carried her to the bedroom.

They still hadn’t put Cullen’s bed together, and she doubted they ever would at this point. There had been some cosmetic changes to his—no— _their_ — bedroom, however. Softly lit with matching bedside lamps sat on upturned wooden milk crates, gleaming copper in the soft light. A string of fairy lights on the headboard glowed, adding an ethereal feel to the room. Chintz covered shades shielded the bare bulbs, and the navy and gold leaf-covered duvet gave the room a lived-in, loved feeling. With absolute tenderness, Cullen set Niamh down on the bed, his lips hovering over hers but not touching. Not in the mood to play games tonight, she closed the gap between them, her hands reaching for his tie as she pulled him down onto the bed.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, Niamh untucked his shirt, hands sliding up his smooth abdomen. Impatiently, she shed her oversized sweater, kicking off her socks simultaneously. Three weeks without him may very well have been thirty three weeks for all she cared— it had been far too long without him in their bed.

“Do you know how _huge_ this bed is without you in it?” Niamh asked him, unbuttoning his shirt.

“You _do_ realise there’s an electric blanket under it, right?” Cullen teased. “You could just turn that on.”

Niamh pouted. “It’s not the lack of warmth, it’s the lack of _you_ in the bed,” she said, rocking her hips against his. “An electric blanket is one thing, but this bed’s huge.”

Cullen’s hands slid down inside the waistband of her yoga pants, and she threw her head back, her hand fisting in the sheets beside her. She kissed him again, muffling the sound of her moan as his fingers found her clit.

“Hey, don’t say that….” Cullen smirked. “You know, it wasn’t always huge… I used to share it with Calenhad. But, I much prefer sharing the bed with you.”

Niamh giggled. “Well…. I’m glad you prefer sharing it with me over the dog. And he’s been sleeping at my feet while you’ve been gone. It’s awfully lonely without you, though.”

Her head rolled back against the pillows as Cullen’s fingers dipped lower, and she hooked her fingers in the elastic sides of her yoga pants, and Cullen grinned, his hands joining hers to help her remove them. Shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt, Cullen unbuckled his belt and removed his trousers, and Niamh grinned as his cock sprang upwards, no longer confined. Her mouth watered as she came to kneel on the edge of the bed, taking him in her mouth and sucking. She glanced up to see Cullen’s eyes close, his hand gently brushing her hair back, as she took him deeper, until she knew he would not last much longer.

Then Cullen laid her down on the bed, sheathing himself deep within her. Rocking against him, Niamh let herself forget everything except the sensations he aroused in her. Fire burned between them, a deep and ancient fire that no amount of time could quench. She lifted her hips in time with the tempo he set; a slow, languid pace, taking his time to explore her body, his hands caressing, coaxing, drawing out the exquisite torture. He kissed her, slow, gentle, and then hard and demanding, and Niamh responded, her hands sliding over his arse, nails lightly raking along his spine. Cullen knew how to drive her wild, and he continued to rouse her, coaxing the whimpers and little sighs from her until they were both sweaty, flushed, and so very close to release

“I’m so close,” she whispered, head rolling back against her pillows as Cullen’s hands held her hips to his, eyes closing as her orgasm seared through her, Cullen following her over the edge soon after. He held her softly against him, his hand stroking her hair, his other hand caressing her breasts. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as the waves of her orgasm continued, Cullen’s fingers still teasing her breasts.

“Any better?” he asked cheekily, and Niamh grinned up at him. She grabbed him, pulling his lips down to his once more, her kiss answering his question. Sliding out of her, he walked across the room, entering the en-suite to grab a soft flannel.

She watched him go, her eyes lingering appreciatively on his glorious form, her very own statue carved from marble. The soft bedside lights gave him an ethereal glow about him, catching the golden highlights in his hair, and the shadows played against the sculpted chest. She bit down on her lip, stifling the grin that she knew was a satisfied smirk. She rolled onto her side, her head supported by her elbow as Cullen returned. He knelt before her, and she scooted closer, draping her legs over his shoulders as he raised the warm washer to her quim. Infinitely careful and caring, he ran it along her seam.

“Much. But you’re welcome to join me in the shower,” Niamh said. “I’ve missed showering with you while you’ve been away. I’ve missed _everything_ we do together…” She added, taking his hand as she led them both into the bathroom. She turned the shower on, stepping into the large space with him.

Cullen’s warm chuckle reverberated against her ear as he reached for her body wash, squirting a fair amount of the fragrant soap into his hands. Working it into a lather, he dragged his hand against her breast, smearing them with the body wash. Giggling at his touch, Niamh turned to face him, standing on her tiptoes to capture his lips in yet another long, languid kiss.

“It’s going to be _this_ kind of shower, then?” Cullen asked.

“You _have_ been gone three weeks. I haven’t had you nearly enough to make up for three weeks of nightly sexting and skype calls…” Niamh said, her eyes dancing with merriment. “A girl misses her man.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Cullen said. “If you think it’s been hard on you, you don’t know the pain of pretending not to have a boner while in a meeting just from thinking about you…”

“Ah yes. It was hilarious listening to you,” Niamh grinned. “Your voice got tighter and tighter while I proceeded to giggle on mute. Good thing the Antivans seemed completely oblivious to what was actually going on…”

“I had to…. Find a bathroom after that,” Cullen admitted, as Niamh’s hands reached around his waist, and down further so her fingers hovered tantalisingly above his cock.

“My poor, poor Cullen,” Niamh grinned cheekily once again. “That was the highlight of the week. I think I also sent you a nude…”

“You did. Varric kept asking me if I had something I wanted to share with us. He figured out it was nudes… Though how, I don’t know..”

“Because of course it would be Varric, and not Cole….” Niamh giggled. “Though knowing Cole, he somehow knows everything in our heads, and it makes me damn amused sometimes by what he comes out with.”

Cullen poured shampoo into his hands, lathering it in her hair, breath tickling her skin. Gooseflesh rose, and Niamh shivered pleasurably. “I’m just glad that Varric only said that he hoped you weren’t torturing me too much.”

“And given that I _delight_ in torturing you for fun…” Niamh said, leaning forward so Cullen could lather the shampoo further into her hair. “I hope you told him you delighted in _being_ tortured by me…”

“’Curly, I don’t know what Niamh is sending you’,” Cullen imitated Varric’s deadpan, “’But whatever it is, you’re grinning like an idiot…’ I distinctly remember those words.”

“At least he didn’t ask to _read_ them as inspiration for his next masterpiece…” Niamh said.

Rinsing the shampoo from her hair, she reached up for the conditioner.

“I remember him offering Alistair love advice,” Cullen laughed. “The poor man was _mortified._ _”_

“Of course he was. It’s Alistair, after all. I never did quite understand how he wound up married to my cousin Aoife— he probably has some awkward endearing charm…. Not unlike you…” Niamh smiled, rinsing the conditioner out of her hair now.

“Oh?” Cullen chuckled. “Awkward and endearing?”

“Absolutely endearing. Not so much awkward… I love you, Cullen.” Niamh giggled. “I hope you realise how much I love you…. I mean, come nine months time, and I could be pushing a mini human out of my vagina…”

“I love you too,” Cullen said, reaching down to stroke her inner thigh, and she giggled once more, feeling the evidence of his arousal against her back. “Are you willing to experiment in here?”

“I was wondering whether we’d be up for round two when I invited you to shower with me. Like I said, it’s been a _long_ three weeks without you…”

“Well, in that case,” Cullen turned and kissed her, his hand braced against the wall of the shower, and Niamh surrendered to the kiss, hard and demanding though it was. She looped her arms around his neck, her eyes closing as the kiss continued, and Cullen’s hand slid up her leg, gradually taking all her weight. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and Cullen chuckled, supporting her weight in his arms. She reached over to turn the shower to a trickle, ever mindful of the fact that water was a finite resource. Grabbing on to the shower head, she felt him sheath himself in her, his hands supporting her arse as she rocked back and forth against his cock.

“You read my mind,” Niamh said, head rolling against the back of the shower, Cullen kissing along her neck as she did so. “Mmmm. Yes, that’s just _perfect_ , keep doing that….”

“I will,” Cullen smirked, nibbling at her earlobe as he thrust into her again.

A steady wave of pleasure built up within her, her hand raking through Cullen’s hair, her lips pressed against the juncture between neck and shoulder, letting the sensations wash over her. Her fingers ran up and down his back, her nails scraping the skin, and she heard his sexy little growl of pleasure. Cullen’s hands still cradling her arse, his fingers digging into the flesh, their lips met again and again in fiery kisses that had her moaning.

“I think we should move to the bedroom again. I really don’t want you to put your back out from this,” Niamh said, putting her palm on his heart to make him look at her.

“Concerned for my back?” Cullen chuckled. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. How do you expect to carry our kid if you keep throwing your back out?”

“Well, in that case…” he gently withdrew from her, setting her down on her feet.

She grinned at the sight of his cock jutting proudly up from the thatch of golden curls. Turning the water off, they proceeded to dry one another before heading back to the comfort of their bedroom. He grabbed her round the waist, snuggling up against her, pressing the evidence of his arousal against her arse. She tilted her head up, bringing her mouth up to meet his, swaying from side to side, his arms low around her waist.

Turning, she faced him, hands reaching for his cock, gliding her hand up and down a few times before she knelt, taking him in her mouth. Her tongue circled his tip, before she began bobbing her head as she took him deeper into her mouth with every suck. A gentle hand pulled her away, and she pouted before Cullen’s lips met hers.

“We can’t exactly make a baby if you finish me like this,” he reminded her, amusement dancing in his warm brown eyes. “As much as I love this…”

“You’re right,” Niamh said, grinning. She sat on the edge of their bed, her hand supporting her weight as she leaned back. Cullen swallowed visibly, eyes affixed on her fingers as she rubbed them between the lips of her quim. “So, come here….”

“In which sense of the word?” Cullen teased, leaning over her to kiss her.

“Why not both?”

Cullen smiled, sheathing himself once more inside her.

“That’s more like it,” she said, as Cullen’s hands framed her face, kissing her tenderly.

They moved together, her nails raking down his back, her legs wrapped around his waist. “And _technically,_ it’s not the only way to conceive… Reproductive technology is a wonderful thing,” Niamh grinned. “But this way is much more fun…”

He chuckled, his breath tickling her ear. “I’m glad to hear you think _this way_ is more fun…Oh _fuck,_ ” Cullen’s words failed him, letting out an incoherent mumble of pleasure.

“ _Fuck,_ _”_ Niamh moaned, her hand fisting in the sheet beside them. She lost all ability to think, to speak, as the first wave of her orgasm crashed over her, engulfing her in delicious waves of pleasure, toes curling in the bedsheets, grabbing a fistful of the top sheet in her hand, Cullen following her over the abyss. Breathing hard, she opened her eyes as Cullen withdrew gently, and pouted, not wanting to lose contact with the man she loved.

He cupped her face, kissing her as they lay there in a tangle of sheets, duvet covers, and blankets. After a long moment, just lying there, flushed and fully sated, she made her way to the bathroom. Ablutions done, she headed back into the bedroom, pulling on one of Cullen’s old flannelette shirts and a pair of boxers, and climbed into bed beside him.

“Well, did your homecoming meet your expectations?” Niamh asked, her fingers lightly running along his arms.

“More than,” Cullen said, nuzzling the side of her neck.

Cullen’s arms wrapped around her waist as she snuggled into his embrace. From their bedroom window, the streetlights a pale orange glow in the outside world, they watched the snow falling. She reached for the remote on the bedside table, switching the lamp on before hitting the button on the remote, the big overhead light dimming instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts! I can be found here, on [tumblr](http://lauraemoriarty.tumblr.com) or on Discord as LauraEMoriarty.


	4. Shelter from the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place about two or more months later.

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin’ there

With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair

She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns

Come in, she said,

I’ll give you shelter from the storm

\- Bob Dylan, _Shelter from the Storm_

Niamh ran her thumb along her bottom lip, surveying the room. The great ballroom looked dazzling; a confection of floral garlands hung from the walls, gleaming polished concrete flooring reflecting the chandeliers, and the champagne flutes were overflowing. Waiters in black attire buzzed around the room, setting out hors d’oeuvre, filling carafes with sparkling water, laying out place settings on pristine white tablecloths, all in starched elegance. At least tonight would be a resounding success, she was sure of it.

Her period was late. Either it was late, and it would mean disappointment when it _did_ come, or it was late for the right reasons. Biting her lip, her hand on her hip, she glanced around. Breasts aching, her lower back twinging momentarily, she rolled her neck, realising that the stiffness was probably the cause of her lower back aching. She wished she’d chosen to take Josephine up on her offer to supervise the preparation for Trevelyan Ink’s annual fund raising gala— the proceeds went to a Kirkwall clinic in Darktown— and gone home to have a nice long bubble-filled soak in the newly-renovated bathroom.

“Are you almost done?” Cullen asked, appearing at her side. “You know, we can go home and rest up before tonight.”

She could’ve kissed him in gratitude, but settled on giving his fingers a discreet squeeze instead. Among their friends, they could be more open in their relationship, but in public, no matter how much she wished it, she was careful about what they knew.

“I’d love that more than anything. You, me, the new tub we haven’t… christened yet….” Her voice trailed off, and she wished she could be there now. She checked her watch, frowning. “Alas. I have about another hour of setup here before I can confidently hand the project over to Josephine and go. You’re free to go, though.”

“Let me know when you’re in the car, I’ll have the bath running and ready for you by the time you get home.”

“Can you swing by the pharmacy? I think we might be getting a welcome surprise, but I’d like to confirm it,” Niamh said, biting her lip as Cullen nodded.

“Any particular brand?”

“The really quick one, I can’t quite remember what it’s called. Ask the assistants, they’ll know. But, my period _is_ late…”

“I hope that it means what I think it means,” Cullen said, drawing her into an alcove where they could speak freely. He put his hands on her waist, wrapping her in a tight embrace, before she tilted her chin up for him to kiss her. His lips met hers, and he gave her a quick, tender kiss, lingering at the corners of her mouth. Her arms looped around his neck, pulling him to her.

“I do too…. Though, if it’s not the case, we get to have more fun,” she said. “Who knew conception sex could be so adventurous? I particularly enjoyed that cab ride we took a week ago….”

“I did too,” Cullen said, chuckling. “Who knew how much fun we could have in the back of a cab in ten minutes?”

“Mmm… _That_ was fun. I pity the cabbie— who would’ve thought such soberly-dressed executives could behave like that?”

“Well… I can. Plus, what if we were to—” Cullen broke off whatever thought he’d had in his head. “Wait. Do you hear footsteps?”

“Our reprieve is over, by the sound of those particular ones. That sounds like Josie in her high heels clopping our way…” Niamh pouted. “I suppose we’ll have to come out in due course; especially once I’m pregnant and showing…”

“I’ll see you at home,” Cullen said, and the words sent shivers down her spine. His breath tickled the back of her neck, his hands ghosting along her shoulders. He twitched the curtain back, and left her standing there.

She watched as he headed out of the ballroom, biting her lip to stop her grin spreading across her face and giving away the secret.

“Ah, Ms Trevelyan… Any last requests before you head home to change?” Josephine asked, appearing at her side in a matter of seconds.

Niamh wondered how Josephine always looked so unruffled. “Can you please check with the caterers that the special meals for the Dalish are on the way to being done? I’ve had caterers muck up before. I fired the last lot that pulled a ‘we don’t know how to make delicious meals for the Dalish’ card.”

“I will make sure to supervise the caterers— personally— if need be,” Josephine said, checking her iPad, frowning, and looking back up at Niamh. “And we have the last of the autumn roses ready for Celene Valmont’s dressing room. Her rider was extremely specific. Two hundred white roses— can you believe it?”

Niamh giggled. “Yeah, that’s par for the course with her. If that’s the strangest request in there, then we’re actually doing okay. She’s mellowed since the first time we booked her to perform.”

Josephine gave a mock shudder. “And I thought dealing with monarchs was hard…”

“I’m so glad I poached you from the Antivan embassy; your talents were absolutely _wasted_ there,” Niamh said. “You are amazing. Anyway, is there anything left to delegate?”

“Uh, there’s a problem with the ladies bathrooms. One of the sinks is blocked, and no plumber is available to come out at such short notice…” Josephine said, twisting a ring around her right ring finger in what Niamh had come to realise was one of her nervous tics.

Niamh closed her eyes, sighing. _Of course_ the world would conspire against her going home to a hot bath and Cullen— to finding out whether her early symptoms were accurate or whether she was simply imagining them. “Call Harry. He’s adequately skilled to fix this— it will probably be a welcome reprieve for him; he’s doing it tough right now, lost one of his kids to bloat two nights ago. It’s too hard to find a plumber at such short notice. Harry’s got the skills, we might as well put them to use— most farmers are multi-skilled.”

She pulled out her phone to send Josephine the contact details for Harry. “Anything else?” she enquired, raising an eyebrow and desperately hoping she could go home for at least a few hours.

“That’s about it,” Josephine said. “I’ll be in touch if anything comes up.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back at quarter to seven, all dolled up and looking the part,” Niamh said. “If I don’t hear from you before that, I’ll assume it’s all systems go?”

Josephine nodded, checking her watch. “See you in three and a half hours, Niamh. Go and relax. I’ve got this.”

Turning, Niamh walked out of the ballroom, praying nobody would detain her.

* * *

Keys in her hand, her phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear, Niamh fumbled for the door. She heard Calenhad’s greeting bark as she finally unlocked the door. How she detested being on hold, and how she wished she could curse the obnoxiously cheerful recording. “ _Your call is important to us. Please hold for the next available operator. You are tenth in the queue.”_

Who knew it would be _this_ hard to cancel a credit card? She didn’t. The amount of ridiculous bureaucracy and sheer red tape to cancel one credit card had her wondering, rather cynically, if it wasn’t a ploy on the credit card company’s to make it so hard that in the end, they simply gave up. It wasn’t like she used this particular card that often; it was more the absolute _last, actually-an-emergency_ card. Finally getting her key in the lock, Niamh turned the doorknob, and was knocked down by an overenthusiastic Calenhad.

“Ooof— _Calenhad!”_ Niamh said, pushing the war hound as best she could. She felt, rather than saw, Cullen as he picked her up off the floor.

He grabbed his dog’s collar, scowling. “I’m sorry,” Cullen said, leading Calenhad out to the back deck. “Bath is ready for you…” he called back over his shoulder.

She dropped everything on the hall stand, terminating the call on her phone. It _truly_ didn’t matter if she cancelled the credit card. A bath was far more welcome. Heading into the bathroom, she shed her clothes, stepping gratefully into the hot water and _bubbles_. Leaning her head against the pseudo-pillow on the edge of the tub, Niamh closed her eyes, sinking deep into the hot bubbly water.

“Mind if I join you?” Cullen’s voice in her ear sounded low and sexy, and she turned her head to face him.

“I would _love_ that. It’s good we bought a two-person tub when we renovated your bathroom,” Niamh said, watching as Cullen shed his clothes and climbed in.

Wrapping himself around her, Niamh felt Cullen settle into the warmth of the water, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes again. His arms settled around her waist, a welcome weight. His hands drew idle circles on her arms, as she took the moment with him here, in their tub, to relax.

“I went to the pharmacy, and I bought more than one test,” Cullen said, and Niamh looked up. “The shop assistant was quite adamant that they were all quick and accurate, so… I bought five.”

Niamh giggled. “Trust you to perform a task so diligently that you buy five different pregnancy tests,” she said. “Usually, you only buy one, unless it’s one of those cases where you stockpile cause you’re trying for a baby and have been for _months_. I have a feeling that’s not gonna be the case here.”

“The assistant was rather amused, but kind about it. He figured I was new to this whole thing, so he helped me pick the brands out, and then narrow it down to just five…” Cullen’s voice trailed off as Niamh dissolved into helpless giggles again.

She couldn’t help it. His voice was so serious, so determined.

“…What are you laughing about?” Cullen asked, and Niamh smiled.

“The fact that you’re so earnest about the whole thing. I _love_ how earnest you are… I love _you,_ ” she said.

* * *

Three minutes.

Who knew three minutes could feel like an eternity?

It stretched out as she looked at the window in the pregnancy test, gnawing her lip from both nervousness and excitement.

 _Three_ minutes. Her life, and Cullen’s life, could be significantly altered in the next three minutes. Whether they would, in nine months, be welcoming a bundle of joy into their family could be determined in those three minutes.

Niamh bit her lip, twisting the sapphire ring on her right hand, waiting for the colour of the reagent strip to change.

Beside her, Cullen rubbed her back, and she leaned into the touch, resting her head on his shoulder.

 _Two minutes_ — the time it took her to respond to a message. Two minutes to go. She gnawed on her lip, bringing her thumb up to trace the outline of her upper lip with her nail. Cullen kept rubbing little circles with his thumbs as they waited, on tenterhooks, for the results.

“This has been the longest three minutes I’ve ever experienced,” Niamh said. “Never thought that three minutes could be the difference between us officially having a baby, or having to try again. Not that the trying has been especially… trying.”

Cullen chuckled, glancing at the test in Niamh’s hand. “Well, we can always go round….. What number are we at now?”

“I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve done it. But it’s fun, and hey, if we have a baby out of this— well, I’m gonna be a mum, and you’ll make an excellent dad,” Niamh said, watching the doubt flicker across his face.

“I’ll… for you, I’ll try,” Cullen said hesitantly, as Niamh linked her fingers through his. “I’m not sure if I’m terrified, or excited, or both.”

“You’ll make an excellent dad. Don’t doubt yourself for a moment. Everyone— me included— has doubts, and big ones. I’m _terrified_ of what could happen if we got devastating news, but I don’t doubt _us_ for a second,” Niamh said, glancing at the stick that sat on the vanity. “I mean, what if—”

Cullen kissed her brow, cutting off her what-ifs. “We’ll face it— together.” He squeezed her hand gently.

“I know, but this is just killing me with the waiting,” Niamh admitted, reaching for the test.

Two very bold lines stood out on the test’s window. She handed the test to Cullen, wordlessly.

“Does this mean what I think it does?” Cullen asked, his smile widening as Niamh nodded.

“I think we’re in for ten years of partial sleep, because if raising Harry taught me anything, at ten years old, they sometimes still like to climb into bed with you,” Niamh said, grinning. “They’ll also probably fall asleep halfway through a rambling sentence. That’s something Harry used to do. So, at least I have _some_ experience with small children.”

“I remember helping Mia get her eldest, Abbie, to fall asleep when she was younger. She’d generally conk out after Uncle Cullen gave her a story… She’d fall asleep right when my imagination began to fail me, and I could no longer summon up stories of Ser Barris and his dashing band of adventurers. I just hope my imagination doesn’t fail me with our own child,” Cullen said, and Niamh saw the softness in his eyes as he spoke.

“Well, it’s a _very good_ thing we’re running a publishing company,” Niamh giggled, leaning her head against his shoulder as he kissed the top of her head. “We can always ask Varric for ideas.”

“I somehow doubt we’ll need his help inventing bedtime stories for our own kid. _Our kid_ ,” Cullen said, and there was awe and wonder in his tone.

“ _Our kid,”_ Niamh echoed. A powerful rush of emotions swelled in her breast, and she blinked back the sudden tears that pricked behind her eyes. They were having a child together— and a part of her wondered if this was a wonderful dream. But, it wasn’t. It was real, and she touched her belly, wondering how her body would change in the next nine months.

“… Do you think we should get married?” Cullen asked, bringing her back to this wonderful moment.

“I don’t think we need to really formalise what we both already know. I still reckon having a baby together is a bigger commitment than a piece of paper that says we’re choosing to spend the rest of our lives together,” Niamh said slowly, considering her words carefully. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you— it’s just that marriage isn’t a formality I’m overly-invested in.”

She felt Cullen’s body relax.

“I want the same thing you do,” Cullen said. “We’re having a baby together. I mean, if you want to get married, we can. I just…”

“I know,” Niamh said, as Cullen smiled down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so. “We’re living together, we’re having a baby together. We renovated your house together. I think if we can survive renovating your house without wanting to kill each other— and putting together flat-pack furniture and a flat-pack bathroom, which are, according to Dorian, the hallmarks of whether a relationship will last— I think we’re doing absolutely _marvellously_ thus far, don’t you?” Her mouth twitched up into an amused grin, before she burst into giggles.

“You did manage to survive meeting my very demanding sister— I think anyone who meets Mia, and gets her approval in, and I quote her here, ‘five seconds flat’ is a definite keeper,” Cullen said. “She also told me that if I didn’t find a way to make you a permanent fixture in my life, she would happily kill me.”

“Mia is scary,” Niamh giggled. “A small, scary package. Something tells me that Branson and Rosalie all fall in line if Mia says to.”

“Yeah, that’s about right.” Cullen confirmed. “I remember one incident during high school where Mia threatened to go above the principal’s head simply to get some archaic rule about girls wearing skirts instead of the much more— according to her— comfortable trousers that the boys wore abolished. I think that’s when we realised she was going to make a first-class prosecutor.”

“I’d hire her in a heartbeat if we ever needed a prosecutor, for what it’s worth,” Niamh said. “But, I am excited to hear what she thinks when we tell her the news we’re expecting a baby.”

“She’d probably ask us what took us so long to get our shit together— and then begin bombarding us with lists and lists of names, of essential nursery items, etcetera,” Cullen said, and he smiled shyly. “I can’t believe the test was positive. It’s not really sunk in yet….”

“I can’t either. It feels….” Niamh trailed off, biting her lip, leaning her head on Cullen’s shoulder once more, his arm coming to curl around her waist once again. “… Surreal.”

“Should we keep this to ourselves?” Cullen asked. “I mean, don’t _most_ couples wait for a while to announce?”

“Yeah. Mainly out of a ridiculous superstition that if you tell people, and then miscarry…” Niamh said. “I’ve always maintained that it’s a ridiculous superstition because it isolates people— I don’t get it.”

“So, do you want to announce it at some point?” Cullen asked.

Niamh shook her head. “Not tonight, no. I mean, we’ve never even confirmed to anyone at Trevelyan Ink that we’re even _together_. Maybe we start with that, before we share the fact that we’re expecting a baby. I’m sure Varric and Josephine suspect something, though. Varric keeps asking leading questions about what we do all day in our office… And Josephine, because she’s interrupted me mid-sext.”

“I think I remember getting that half-finished thought,” Cullen grinned. “I was in a meeting, and checked my phone while some accountant was droning on and on…”

“You know, I’m surprised you remember that…. But, I think it was only three days ago,” Niamh said, squeezing Cullen’s hand. “C’mon, we’ve got that gala to get to tonight. Shouldn’t we be getting dressed?”

“I almost don’t want to go. It would be far better staying home with you, a good book, and Calenhad. But we should go— I never want to miss an excuse to see you in a fancy gown— I love getting to take that fancy gown off you when we get home,” Cullen said, smirking at her.

Niamh reached over and kissed the scar that nearly cut his top lip in two. “That’s my favourite part of going out…. Getting to sneak out of an event to go home with you— and nobody the wiser for it.”

“That’s what’s so fun about it,” Cullen agreed. “Even in the office, I doubt anyone knows we’re seeing each other…”

“Should we actually _announce_ it?” Niamh asked, standing. Her hips swayed in an exaggerated fashion as she walked to their bedroom. Cullen followed, wrapping his arms low around her waist, and her hands came to rest atop his. He nuzzled the side of her neck with his nose, and Niamh leaned into his embrace once again.

“I’m not sure. It’d end certain rumours flying around the office, I know that for certain,” Cullen said. “I mean, I’ve heard there are people taking bets on whether we’re actually a couple or not. I heard that Varric wagered the entirety of his royalties for the next book he publishes in favour of us actually being a couple.”

“I’ve heard that Josie has a wager on if we’re together or not, too,” Niamh said. “It’s a truth universally acknowledged that one should _never_ bet against an Antivan.”

“Unless you want your posterior handed to you by the Crows,” Cullen said, pulling on a pair of briefs, walking to the garment bag that hung on the curtain rod. He unzipped the bag, removing the plastic that encased the charcoal grey wool suit.

Niamh walked over to the dresser and grabbed a long line bra from within. The matching high-waisted full coverage knickers came next. Piling her red hair onto the top of her head, she glanced at Cullen, who was busy pushing a cuff link into the sleeve of his shirt. A rush of love more powerful than anything she’d ever felt threatened to burst from her.

Cullen gave her shoulder a light squeeze. Glancing down at her, he lightly kissed her lips, before she drew him down onto the bench, and he sat, his hand threading through her hair to cup the back of her head as they kissed once more. Her hand rested lightly against his forearm, the long and languid kiss one that spoke of tenderness and desire.

“If we keep this up, we’ll never make it to the ball….” Niamh reminded him. “It’s not like we can avoid going. Granny expects us there, and as much as I’d rather stay here with you, it’d be poor form on my part not to turn up. You’d get away with it, but I can’t.”

Glancing at her face in the mirror, Niamh applied her makeup. A swirl of gold and silver on her eyelids, it complemented the gold and silver shimmering strands woven through her dress. Effie had outdone herself once again; an azure silk chiffon skirt flowed over layers of soft tulle netting, flaring out from a tight bodice. The soft sheer sleeves reminded her of a long-ago dress once worn by a princess of Ostwick. A white gold snowflake necklace with an aquamarine in the centre of the snowflake hung on a delicate chain around her neck, dangling earrings with tiny pink diamonds set in white gold hung from her ears.

“You look beautiful,” Cullen said, dropping a kiss on the side of her neck, his hands warm on her shoulders.

She glanced up at him, and smiled. In his charcoal suit, with a crisp white shirt, he looked _gorgeous_. Sometimes, she wondered how she had been so blind to his attractiveness, but she knew now. Their children would undoubtedly have his looks, and hopefully everything good in him. “And you look _amazing_ yourself,” she said. “And now, are we ready to admit to the publishing world at large that we’re together?”

“They’ll figure it out once they put two and two together and realise I’ve escorted you to nearly every function Trevelyan Ink has been invited to over the last year and a bit,” Cullen said indulgently. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve exactly hidden _that_ bit of our relationship. Though, it has been rather fun and sexy pretending that we’re just friends.”

“Mmm, true. It _has_ been fun pretending. Driving each other mad in meetings where our eyes would meet, it’s wonderful fun,” Niamh agreed. “Especially the part where, _after_ the meeting, we abscond, our phones on silent, and my office locked…” Her words were cut off when Cullen kissed her again, her eyes closing. “Mmm… Keep kissing me like that, and we’ll never make it to the ball. But then again, I’ve been looking forwards to dancing, good food, and the occasional glass of champagne. I mean, after tonight, it’ll be mocktails and sparkling grape juice for the next nine months. Hopefully nobody cottons on too quickly…” She touched her belly softly, and Cullen’s hand followed, resting on hers.

“I have to admit, those stolen moments in your office were incredibly fun,” Cullen smirked, helping her to stand. Zipping up the back of her dress, his hands lingered on her waist for a moment longer, as she leaned back into his embrace.

* * *

Blinding flashes of light were the first things she saw as the limo door opened. Blinking, Niamh looked to Cullen, before glancing back at the cameras and an immense crowd of people. Cullen’s smile was reassuring, and he exited the car, extending his hand to her. She took it, and this time, she didn’t drop his hand again. She smiled at the photographers, answered inane questions about who she wore, and who had supplied her jewellery, and whether she was excited about the prospect of raking in the sovereigns for their charity.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Cullen said as they entered the lobby, and a concierge took their coats and her evening bag. “Sparkling grape juice?”

“If it looks like champagne, yes please,” Niamh smiled, and kissed him softly on the lips.

“Well, whaddya know… We win the bet,” Varric said, dry and deadpan as always. “We’ve always known. I’ll have to get Sparkler to pay up.”

“You don’t win the bet,” Niamh grinned at Varric. “Dougal taught me long ago to only bet if I was sure—wait, what do you mean you’ve _always_ known?”

“It wasn’t hard to put two and two together when he was in Antiva three months ago and he turned bright red from reading something on his phone…” Varric deadpanned. “And given that anyone with more observational skills than a lump of lyrium could see how you lit up anytime he came into the room… You weren’t as subtle as you thought you were.”

Niamh blushed. “And who else knows?” She bit her lip to stop the broad grin on her face from spreading. “I mean, aside from you…”

Cullen appeared with a glass of sparkling grape juice, and Niamh took it from him, gulping half of it down. “Thanks. And Varric knows about us….” Niamh said in an undertone.

“Oh? How’d he figure it out?” Cullen sounded amused.

“Antiva, apparently,” Niamh giggled. “You weren’t as subtle as you thought you were.”

Cullen smiled, linking his fingers through hers as they walked into the grand ballroom.

Niamh sipped from her champagne flute, taking in the extravagant ballroom decorations.

Josie truly knew how to make a room look like five million sovereigns. Niamh had left seven hours ago and come back to glamour and glitz. Balloons blanketed the ceiling, gold and pink ribbons dangling down like a million streamers. Soft light and soft music, waiters in black passing round hors d’oeuvre on silver platters, champagne flutes overflowing, men and women in their best frocks and suits. A cluster of important people stood in a circle around a table laden with fresh fruit and vegetables, and Niamh drank in the reward of months of hard work and careful planning.

She intended to honour all the hard work her company had done, the people who made it a success. People who were more like family and friends, rather than just employees and clients, and those who made everything she did worth the sacrifices she’d made. And the sacrifices she would make in the future, with her impending maternity leave. She figured the company would be in good hands with Varric at the helm; she would step back and raise her family.

“Mum, you OK?” Harry asked, appearing beside her. “You look kinda pale.”

“I’m fine,” Niamh said. “I’m more than fine… Cullen and I are having a baby together. It’s just a twinge of nausea.”

“You and… Cullen?” Harry asked, before he grinned. “I called it! Mum, I fucking called it. I’ve always wanted a baby sister.”

“Harry, mind your language! I raised you better than that,” Niamh feigned mock horror and sternness. “How are you, really? It’s never easy losing one of your kids, is it?”

Harry shrugged. “Old truism in livestock: you got live stock, and you’ve got dead stock….” He said, and Niamh saw his upper lip trembling. “I hate losing them. Especially to bloat.”

Niamh wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I know how much this year’s season meant to you. She was one of your most promising, and from lines you were looking for.” She released him.

“Yeah. I’m gonna go get a drink, do you want a refill?” Harry said, and Niamh saw how he squared his shoulders, and shook it off. Her heart broke for him, for having to be so pragmatic over the losses of livestock.

“I’ve barely touched this one. I’ll be right for the moment,” Niamh said. “I should probably go mingle, instead of looking like I’m being insular.”

Squeezing his shoulder, Niamh moved off into the crowd, smiling and waving at donors, at their plus-ones, at the old people who came, year after year— the supporters who had made her company a success. The company her grandmother had started, her father had continued, and she had inherited.

“There you are,” Cullen said, and she smiled as she felt his closeness to her. “How’s your stage fright?”

“Is that code for anything?” Niamh turned to face him. “Or are you just looking for an excuse to get me on my own?”

“It might be,” Cullen said, “Josie wanted me to remind you that you’re due to give a speech in the next half hour. She sent me to remind you…. But I also wanted an excuse to do this.” He kissed her softly on the forehead, and she smiled up at him.

“So does that mean we’re ready to announce that we’re together?” Niamh asked impishly, taking a sip of her sparkling grape juice. “I mean, Varric knows, and now I’ve told Harry. He wants a baby sister, and he’s thrilled for us.”

“I think we’re ready,” Cullen said.

A round of applause sounded, and they turned to see Dorian enter the room. Resplendent in acid green and lighting bolt blue, he never failed to look completely comfortable and confident in whatever he wore. Niamh wished she had that ability. As usual, Dorian had managed to steal the show, and Niamh grinned up at Cullen.

“Hiring Dorian was one of the best decisions we made— in terms of Trevelyan Ink, at least,” Niamh said, as Dorian sashayed towards them, making a beeline for Cullen.

“Ah, the dynamic duo! And how are we this evening?” Dorian said, arms extended as he clapped Cullen on the back. “Niamh, you’re looking absolutely _glowing_ tonight. Positively radiating with gorgeousness, my darling.”

“And you’re looking absolutely flamboyant, Dorian. I’m glad you’re here,” Niamh said, kissing him on the cheek.

“This old thing? It’s been begging for an occasion to be worn…. This seemed the right place for it,” Dorian said. “As I understand it, you won a bet, right?” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “If that’s so, may I offer my most hearty congratulations to both of you. I sort of knew already— when Cullen started choking while glancing at his phone in a meeting a few months ago. I’ve _never_ seen him so red in the face. You guys did a poor, poor job of concealing your not-so-secret romance. Which means I should go— I have money I’m owed.”

Niamh glanced at Cullen, eyebrows raised. “I thought I won the main bet… I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.”

Cullen laughed. “You made a bet on _us_?”

“I couldn’t help it. Varric said there was a pool going round in the office, and Dougal once told me never to bet unless I was sure to win the wager…. So—” Cullen cut her off with a kiss, and Niamh’s arms rose to loop around his neck, and all time and space stood still. Nobody existed in that moment but them, and the world fell away. Cullen’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close.

“So, pay up,” Dorian said.

“Me?” Varric sounded indignant. “Sparkler, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re almost as bad as they are when harbouring a secret. Go talk to the kid.”

“Who?”

“Harry. He’s been all googly-eyed since he first saw you,” Varric chuckled. “Go talk to him. You’ll probably make his night. Kid needs cheering up.”

Niamh giggled as she heard Varric’s words, and pulled away from the kiss.

“Well, the cat’s officially out of the bag now,” Cullen said, laughing.

Niamh looked around the room, Cullen’s arms slung low around her waist. She rested her hands on top of his, leaning back. Swaying side to side in time with the soft music flitting through the room, her dress swishing around her ankles, the crowd vanished until it was just her and Cullen. Time and space could stand still, or the world could spin out around them, she would always have these moments with him. Side by side, she knew she could face whatever happened, so long as Cullen was there.

“I suppose it is,” she agreed. “Look—” she pointed at Dorian, who was talking to Harry. “I think that’s what Varric was on about… They’d make an adorable couple.”

“I’ll… defer to your judgement on that,” Cullen said. “Want me to get you another drink?”

Niamh nodded. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts! I can be found here, on [tumblr](http://lauraemoriarty.tumblr.com) or on Discord as LauraEMoriarty.


	5. Make You Feel My Love

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true

Nothing that I wouldn’t do

Go to the ends of the earth for you

To make you feel my love

\- Bob Dylan, _Make You Feel My Love_

The Trevelyan-Rutherford wedding was the social event of the season, writes our special correspondent from the Ostwick Times. Ms Trevelyan, and Mr Rutherford were married yesterday in an intimate ceremony on Ms Trevelyan’s family estate in the sedate Ostwick countryside. The bride wore an Effie Malone creation, a gown of billowing white silk skirts and a low-cut bodice, her red hair adorned with a floral crown of Andraste’s Grace. She carried a bouquet made from the pages of bestselling author Varric Tethras’s _The Sword And The Shield_ series. Her three bridesmaids wore bohemian-inspired floaty chiffon dresses in various shades of purple, and all carried bouquets similar to the bride’s. Both of their teen aged children were attendants, with Ms Trevelyan’s eldest escorting her down the aisle.

Divine Victoria, formerly the Right Hand of the previous Divine, Justinia, officiated the simple ceremony. Mr Rutherford’s insistence on simple vows made for a sweet, simple, short ceremony in which Mr Rutherford and Ms Trevelyan both pledged that they would love one another all the days of their lives.

Rutherford and Trevelyan, both executives in the esteemed publishing company, _Trevelyan Ink_ , first met twenty years ago. 

They are honeymooning on the Rialto Bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed my fluffy, fun to-write fic! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a note or a comment! I can be found on [tumblr](http://lauraemoriarty.tumblr.com), or on Discord! I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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